20 and 21
by Alexanddria
Summary: SH4 HenryxEileen They're exhausted. They burn candles until they are lightheaded from the withering flame in the dying light. Maybe they can console each other though the horror.


Disclaimer: I do not own _Silent Hill 4: The Room._

_Pairing: _HenryxEileen

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They collapse onto an apartment floor, exhausted and aching. His head is pounding and for the umpteenth time that day he feels like he could throw up his intestines. He almost _wishes _he could. His breaths are labored and his white shirt is now rustic in color with dried blood and bile from the abominations of the alternate world.

A heavy stench lingers over the place.

He calms himself enough to listen to the woman who is also resting on the floor. Her breaths are struggled, weak gasps as if the air is poisoned as well as putrid. But he's glad. She's alive.

He doesn't want to close his eyes. He's too scared that she won't be there when they open, or that there will be something else in her place, or that he will be somewhere else. But they are swollen from insomnia, too heavy to keep open.

For the shortest of moments he closes his eyes and his world is black.

When he opens them and sits up she is looking at him. Their eyes meet. His face falls again when he sees her in that dejected state. She is bruised and cut, and her brown hair is starched with clotted blood and oil.

Yet her eyes are like the embers when copper is thrown into a fire. They catch the muted light of the world and reflect it back in cool determination.

His vision drifts to the rest of her body: injured leg and casted arm. A lean body. Pronounced collar bone that blends right into her slender arms. Tight party dress. Full breasts.

"Henry," she coughs quietly, leaning tiredly against the wall. She winces, adjusting her so very long legs. It looks painful for her to move. "We need to get going."

He watches her cut lips move as she says something else, but he can't hear them. He just thinks about how perfectly they are tinted pink from rubbed away lipstick. He wonders what she tastes like.

"Hey…what's wrong?" she asks, barely putting any energy into her voice.

"Eileen…," he tries to think of an explanation, but his mind is confused. Here in this twisted world they are fighting to survive. Here in this horrid place he is thinking about—

She adjusts they way she's sitting. He catches a glimpse up her skirt, but quickly averts his eyes. He feels a bit uncomfortable at this. A bit hot.

She tucks a loose strand of grimy hair behind her ear and he can't help but think of how graceful the motion is. She has slim, pale hands and her fingers are long. One of her nails is black from being smashed earlier.

He wishes he could heal her but ends up feeling useless. He should have gone to medical school like his parents said.

But he takes that same hand of hers and clasps it between his. He doesn't want to see her reaction. He hopes that she is not angry. The first time he touched her she pushed him away in fright.

Surprisingly, she doesn't wrest her arm free. Maybe she's too tired to shake him off. Whatever the case, he's relieved. He doesn't think he would be willing to let her go. Her touch is cold and heavy, but relative to the reality of the nightmare it is the only warmth. He supports her arm.

He rubs his thumb over her fingers, wiping away some of the blood and exposing her beautiful skin. He hears her let out a breath.

He slowly looks up the length of her arm. Again, they make eye contact. He feels stupid for not saying anything. He feels like a thirteen year old uncertain about the girl sitting across the lunch table.

She wraps her fingers between his and pulls him closer. His pain is practically nonexistent as he nears her body, her warmth, her beating heart.

He kneels beside her, completely baffled. She looks up at him, her face like an abandoned porcelain doll. He lets go of one of his hands and touches her cheek. She winces at first but then relaxes her head against his palm.

She feels so very real. So very alive.

Which reminds him that the world is so very dead.

"We have to get going," he rasps. His voice sounds distant, like it's playing though a radio five meters away. He is angry for saying that they have to continue.

He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to face those creatures. He's scared every time he encounters one of those things. He doesn't want to see them. But he has to. He has to.

He has to end this before Walter ends them. He has to finish this even though he is terrified. He is terrified more for her than himself.

But he withdraws from her cheek and releases their clasped hands. She blinks, and for a moment she looks fearful.

He stands and is disoriented as the room blurs for some seconds. He recovers, touching his forehead as the dull pain slowly pulses away.

He looks back at where she was seated but finds that she is already standing on her own. She looks at him with worried eyes but says nothing. In many ways, he realizes, she is stronger than him.

He turns slowly, carefully. It's easier to protect her when she is behind him, but it also makes her out of his sight. He doesn't _think_ he's paranoid about her disappearing when she's out of sight. He doesn't think she'll stray too far from him. He doesn't think she really needs that much protection.

He feels an arm wrap around his waste from behind. It's an awkward hug, but he feels her pressing against his back, not caring for the grime on his shirt. She buries her head into him and lets out one dry sob.

His heart beats as he turns to face her. He gently wipes away imaginary tears and his hand then rests under her chin as he tilts her face up towards his.

He feels himself lean in but remains uncertain. He feels her gentle breath.

They remain them for a moment, and then another.

"If something is going to happen," he hears her whisper, "it should be now."

But he still doesn't know if it's right. The nightmares of the alternate world cloud his mind. He freezes up. All he can think of is everyone he couldn't save. How he almost let her die. He thinks of the monsters. He thinks of Walter. He thinks of the sacrifices. He thinks of the ghosts.

It tugs at the back of his mind. He doesn't know how to react. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know if he can speak anymore.

But he feels a pressure on his lips now, as faint as a feather.

The intrusive thoughts dissipate.

She is kissing him softly, lightly. She tastes like life.

She withdraws, but he lowers his mouth on hers and kisses back, this time more deeply, more eagerly. He closes his eyes and feels safe. He feels her. He knows that she is there with him.

He doesn't want to part, but she eventually murmurs his name and breaks the kiss.

"C'mon," she shrugs with one shoulder.

Her face shows a little bit of color. She still looks like hell, but she is beautiful. Brave.

Even sexy, especially with the torn up dress and the bandages.

He tries to forget that last fetish as he opens the apartment door and the hell begins again.

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First _SH _fic. These two characters are so adorable. Ah, it's pretty late. There's probably some errors... :O

R&R!


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